


The Spaces Inbetween

by cndrow



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mild Gore, Pre-Relationship, Vampirism, cursing, mentions of transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8430565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cndrow/pseuds/cndrow
Summary: Bodrahn is trying to make a better life for himself after self-imposed exile, but this damned elf isn't making it easy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My Halloween short story for 2016~
> 
> Many thanks to my bestie Kit, who beta'd this for me!

Rifling through dead men’s clothes was certainly not the worst task Bodrahn had ever been assigned, but it was easily one of his most hated. It was the smell that offended him so badly; dead bodies were unpleasant at best, but violent deaths left the worst stench of fresh blood and feces. This latest group of bandits had been large; Bodrahn had personally felled ten himself while the other caravan guards had each claimed a close number. Poor sods must have been truly desperate to attack their caravan. He had idly considered digging a shallow mass grave, but gave up the idea before it left his mouth. With the amount of wild dog tracks he’d seen the past few days, they wouldn’t remain in the ground for long.

He and the pale elf had quickly been relegated to search for valuables and catch up with the caravan that evening. Bodrahn’s protests had fallen on deaf ears as the wagons had already begun to move. At the least, the elf- Rhys, he vaguely recalled- was as quiet as ever, working the right half of the impromptu battlefield without complaint or comment.

There was something unsettling about the elf Bodrahn couldn’t quite put to words. The only thing Bodrahn could pinpoint was how unnaturally he moved- the elf’s feet didn’t appear to obey the ground, gliding as if they never moved even as he watched him walk. But, since it had only been a dark twist of fate that they had kept meeting in the same places over the past month, including independently applying for the same caravan to guard, Bodrahn didn’t spend any more worry on him.

Until this moment, when he glanced behind him and saw the elf crouched by a messy kill, a bloodied severed arm raised to his mouth and was…

“What the shit?” Bodrahn blurted, blinking twice rapidly, wondering if he was truly watching this strange person _lick a detached limb._

Rhys looked up, dull eyes flaring to life as he met Bodrahn’s. He slowly lowered the arm, his lips shining red. “Oh. I forgot you were there.”

 _And on the subject of weird shit, there’s his voice_ , Bodrahn thought as he openly gaped. Rhys always sounded distant, as if he were talking from just beyond the crest of a hill. “What the actual shit?” Bodrahn repeated in a demanding tone. “Do you _want_ to catch a disease?! Put that away!”

Rhys stood in one fluid movement, and the hair on Bodrahn’s arms tickled and rose. The arm fell to the ground with a slick noise; his smile was wide and toothy, stained pink. “I beg your pardon?”

“Are you slow?” Bodrahn growled, moving away from the corpse at his feet. The bodies had been disturbing enough on their own, but now the proximity was sickening. “Blood carries any disease the person has. That’s… I have no words.”

“I see,” Rhys chuckled, producing a scrap of cloth from his belt and wiping his mouth. It had dark patches where it should’ve been white, and Bodrahn’s stomach flipped uncomfortably. “It’s the smell. I stayed too close to this particularly mutilated soul for longer than was wise.”

Bodrahn wrinkled his nose. “What kind of person smells this and decides to _ingest_ it?!” He turned, throwing his hands in the air, trying to mentally scrub any unbidden answers. “No! Forget I asked! I’m finished here.”

Not five steps toward the road and Bodrahn felt, rather than heard, the elf close behind. This was an infuriating habit the elf had developed, following him silently about without reason. He sighed, eyeing him at the edge of his vision, alarmed that the elf looked ready to speak. _Don’t answer, please don’t answer such a foolish question-_

“Do you not know?” Rhys’ voice was quiet, barely a whisper above the gentle breeze.

“I know many things,” Bodrahn snorted, shrugging. “You’ll have to be more specific, elf.”

Rhys made a strange noise; Bodrahn realised he had giggled. “I am no elf.”

“Oh? Then what are you?”

“If I knew that, I would not be playing bodyguard for a piss of a merchant,” Rhys replied evenly, and Bodrahn judged it to be the truth.

“I could almost believe you’re no elf,” Bodrahn continued cautiously. “You move like every rogue spends their life to perfect. The amount of opiates I’ve personally watched you inhale in one evening should have killed you thrice over. You speak dwarven as if born to it, yet carry none of our weapons, habits or clothing. And just now you…” Bodrahn glanced up, obviously puzzled.

Rhys was staring down at him, brows knitted, frowning. The show of emotion was unusual, and Bodrahn wondered if his observations had been offensive. “You truly do not know.”

“Know what?” Bodrahn repeated, exasperated.

Rhys blinked once, slow and heavy. “I am a Daywalker. A Halfer. A Dhampyr. Do those words mean anything to you?”

“Truly, no,” Bodrahn admitted. “’Halfer’? Isn’t that some sort of-,”

“My mother was bitten by a vampire while she was with child,” Rhys interrupted smoothly. “She died as she gave me life, and I was raised by a family of dwarves who rescued me. I am elven, I am vampire, I am dwarven- yet I am none of these.”

“…Oh.”

Rhys smiled, a strange thin-lipped gesture. “That is all you have to say?”

“What can I say?” Bodrahn shrugged again, arching a brow up at him. “Would you like hollow words of comfort?”

Rhys’ smile disappeared, the hooded eyes returned to their dull state. “No.”

Silence fell then, boots echoing off the crunch of the leaves underfoot. Their eyes remained ahead, avoiding catching the other, and Bodrahn was perfectly fine with this arrangement. He needed time to think.

It wasn’t odd he hadn’t pieced Rhys’ heritage together on his own; though it felt like years since he’d fled the Great Rift, he had been traveling on his own for barely one. Non-dwarven societies were still foreign and strange, and he’d certainly had no experience with vampire or their kin. Not much knowledge of them either, except for their taste for blood.

It wasn’t until Bodrahn caught sight of the lights of the caravan on a distant hill that he broke the silence.

“If my ignorance offended you, m’sorry,” he muttered. He gestured widely. “Doesn’t change anything, ‘cept next time I find you sucking dead bodies I’ll not think you’re insane. Ain’t so strange in context.”

“It’s not?”

Bodrahn relished the brief look of surprise that earned. “No? You’re a- a damn- What was that word?”

“Dhampyr.”

“Right. You’re a _that_ ,” Bodrahn nodded. “It’s what you do, innit? Drink blood?”

Rhys waved a hand languidly. “Very rarely. I do not have the obsessive thirst true vampires harbour, but the scent can occasionally tempt me, if I’m in the right mood.” To Bodrahn’s amazement, Rhy’s face scrunched into a show of disgust. “It’s far too messy to bother with.”

Bodrahn barked a laugh, slapping Rhys’ arm companionably, which made him start. “Fair enough! Was thinking along similar lines myself while searching for coin. Messy, smelly business. Knew they wouldn’t have much- I dunno what they expected us to find,” he added grumpily. “They’re _bandits_ , the entire point of ‘em is they’re too poor and stupid for honest work.”

There was that noise again, that high-pitched chuckle. “Astute. I have sorely missed dwarven company.”

They both looked a bit surprised at the admission; Bodrahn turned away first, snorting. “Well. You’re no Drow.”

“And.. that is a compliment?”

“Damn right.” Bodrahn spat to the side. “Cursed dark-skinned arses. Can’t stand ‘em. For an elf, you’re not so bad, really.”

“Dhampyr,” Rhys corrected, amused.

“Fine,” Bodrahn muttered, thrusting his chin up at him. “But you got them big ears, the dexterity to make thieves cry, all packaged in an annoying personality. You’ll always be an elf to me.”

This time Rhys genuinely laughed, covering his mouth with a hand. “’Fair enough’, as you said.”

The silence between them was comfortable now as they marched side by side, drawing closer to where Bodrahn could see the caravan setting camp. He gripped Rhys’ hand just before cresting the rise, pleased when the elf immediately halted. Bodrahn stared up at him for a long moment, taking in the too-pale skin glinting in the moonlight, the red-hued eyes, the lips too pink from earlier. Rhys had expected it to be obvious he wasn’t quite elven, which… felt all too familiar. In explaining, Rhys had shown a trust Bodrahn hadn’t encountered often, which he felt obliged to return.

“It’s not the same,” he whispered, hesitating. “I don’t mean to say my life had been easier or harder, but I’ve experienced something similar. I can appreciate the mirror I see in you, even if it’s a different image.”

“What’s that?”

Bodrahn straightened, crossing his arms over his breastplate. “I wasn’t born a man.”

A hint of a frown crossed Rhys’ face. “But you are a man.”

“Yes.” Bodrahn inhaled sharply. “I was born a girl child and raised as such. But I always knew.. I knew something wasn’t right. I didn’t understand my anger until I came of age. My parents rejected what I told ‘em, forced me to live as something I wasn’t. I was promised to a rich man to raise his children as his wife upon the beginning of this year. That was when I packed my possessions, as much gold as I could steal from the family coffers, and ran. I live as a man because I am a man, but there are many who would tell me I am not.”

Rhys gave another of those long, slow blinks; perhaps that was his indicator of pondering. A cute trait; did he know of it? “But you are a man,” he repeated, tilting his head. He looked confused, and this lightened Bodrahn’s heart considerably.

“And you are an elf,” he replied with a smirk.

Only a second to make the connection and Rhys grinned. Bodrahn wondered how he had never noticed the fangs before. Or perhaps he had, and thought nothing of it. “You’ve the strength of ten men and certainly the disposition and scent of a male, if ever I’ve met one besides myself. You will always be a man to me.”

Bodrahn’s declaration turned back on himself was unexpected and, to his surprise, exceedingly welcome from the pale elf. He patted him awkwardly on the arm, offering a quick smile and thank-you before turning to stride the last few feet up the hill.

Now, the presence that ghosted behind him was less an irritant. Perhaps at the next village he should buy the elf a drink or three and continue this conversation.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for stopping by to read :)
> 
> Artwork by me


End file.
